Peril in the Sky
by Holstered .38
Summary: COMPLETE! Thank you for all the reviews Steve and Mark head off on a much needed vacation to London when disaster strikes. How can they save the plane, the crew, the passengers and themselves? I have amended the layout in chapter 3 - enjoy!!!
1. Default Chapter

WARNING!  
  
This story revolves around high drama on an aeroplane. Following the recent events in America, some might not wish to read further. However, the story, disease, cure, airline and events are just the result of my over active imagination. No disrespect in intended in the writing of this story, but please review and above all enjoy :o)  
  
The characters Steve Sloan, Mark Sloan, Jesse Travis, Amanda Bentley and Tanis Archer are the property of VIACOM and CBS. I have only borrowed them and promise to put them back when I am done.  
  
Dr Mark Sloan stood at the ER nurses station writing up the notes to his last patient, as his son, Steve got out of the elevator. "C'mon Dad. The plane leaves in a couple of hours!" "Just a second.There!" exclaimed the white haired physician as he filed his report and finished it off with a flamboyant signature that practically made the pen take off from the paper. "That was my last patient for the next two weeks," he continued cheerily. Just a both father and son were about to leave in the elevator, a call from behind made them stop in their tracks. "Hey, Mark, Steve." It was Drs Jesse Travis and Amanda Bentley hurrying along the corridor attempting to attract the attention of their friends. "Thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye?" asked Amanda with a mock look of disappointment on her face. "Sorry guys," apologised Mark and he hugged the female pathologist close. "You take care," he continued. "And Jess, you make sure you look after Amanda." "And 'Bobs'" chipped in Steve. Jesse grinned, his playful face showed all the 'plans' he had in mind for the BBQ restaurant whilst his partners were out of town.  
  
The airport bustled with people. Passengers arrived from far and wide, all eager to see the sights of Los Angeles and the movie stars that resided there. Others waited for their departing flight to be called, so they could leave the city of angels for the myriad of destinations worldwide.  
  
After queuing for nearly half an hour, just to check their luggage in, Mark and Steve made their way to the departure lounge to wait. The pair of them sat at a table and ordered a coffee each as they watched the planes come and go; tugs pulled a barrage of cases and bags, and handlers loaded the cargo into the respective dormant planes.  
  
Suddenly, a familiar face caught Mark's attention. "Well, it looks like we are going to have an influential passenger with us on our journey across the pond," he remarked. "Who is he?" asked Steve as he noted the suited gentleman enter the lounge in front of a stroboscopic flood of camera flashes. "Senator Owen Watson," answered Mark. "He rose through the ranks from party canvasser to Senator in record time. Some say that there was a lot of money that couldn't legitimately be accounted for used in his election campaign." Steve's jaw tightened as he watched the politician make his way across the room and sit in one of the padded chairs on the far side of the room. The topic of conversation changed abruptly, as Mark announced, "I think I forgot to cancel the newspaper!" "It's OK Dad, I took care of it. Now will you relax, you're on vacation!"  
  
******  
  
Aboard the plane, Mark and Steve took their seats. Steve bundled their hand luggage into the locker space above their allotted seats. A mousy stewardess admired the athletic physique of the lieutenant and smiled her appreciation in his direction. Steve witnessed the attention he was receiving and returned the smile as he watched the beautifully elegant cabin attendant retire to the first class section after being summoned by one of the senator's concierge. "Found an admirer already?" chuckled Mark. "And we haven't even got off the ground yet!" Steve tossed his father a stare that told Mark he was most definitely right.  
  
The flight to London was smooth. Mark was reading up on the latest techniques for laser surgery in coronary cases, and Steve consumed himself in an article concerning Dave Wright, and his fitness regime that helped him score the winning goal in last weeks football match at the LA Stadium. Their concentration was abruptly disrupted when one of the cabin attendants staggered, drunken like, along their aisle and collapsed less than six feet from their seats. One woman screamed.  
  
Mark rose from his seat and felt for the man's pulse. "I'm a doctor," he said amid the encroaching crowd. "Is there somewhere quiet we can take him?" "Yes," replied the female steward who had shown an interest in Steve earlier. "We can take him to the upper lounge. It's quiet and not quite as public," she continued looking around at the increasing number of onlookers. "Steve, give me a hand to take him up," Mark instructed. "What's his name?" "Gavin. Gavin Olsen," stammered the young woman. Placing an arm around each of their shoulders, the pair of Sloan's carried the sick man up a level. Mark examined his patient more closely, but was disturbed by what he found. "He has a high temperature, weak pulse, enlarged glands and a rash developing on his upper abdomen. We need to get his temperature down before he starts to fit!" Both Steve and the female steward looked on in disbelief. "Do you have any ice? Mark asked the attendant with some urgency.  
  
******  
  
The announcement system at CGH crackled into life. "Phone call for Dr Travis - line one. Dr Travis - line one," the disembodied voice repeated. Jesse approached the ER nurses station and answered the phone. "Dr Travis, oh hi Mark..WHAT?!"  
  
Jesse waved to Amanda, as she approached along the hallway, to join him at the nurse's station. His face showed distinct signs of apprehension and concern. Amanda looked on puzzled by her colleagues' expression and waited patiently for him to enlighten her.  
  
Finally, Jesse hung up the phone and looked at the female pathologist, not quite sure where to begin. Grabbing her elbow he scanned the reception area before he dragged her off down the corridor and into the nearby doctor's lounge. Amanda protested to his rough treatment of her. At last they were alone.  
  
Amanda sank into a conveniently positioned chair as Jesse told of Mark's suspicions aboard Flight 802. "Mark has arranged for Sergeant Tanis Archer to meet us at Gavin Olsen's apartment. He wants us to check his place out to see if we can find out what we are dealing with." "I'll get my things," replied Amanda as she ditched her flustered thoughts and resumed her professionalism.  
  
Olsen's apartment bore little resemblance to the upmarket way of life he portrayed at work. Tanis had already questioned a few of his work colleagues and checked his personnel file from the airline's head office.  
  
The dismal grey walls were decorated with patches of damp, and mildew was growing in an ever-encroaching pattern in one corner of the sitting room. The bedroom offered little respite from the state of disrepair. At least the walls were lined with wallpaper, even if the odd sheet had removed itself from the layer beneath, exposing the atrocities of an earlier decor and colour coordination that could only have been chosen by a blind man!  
  
Amanda and Jesse looked around the room and then to each other. It was almost a relief, they thought, that both of them would be required to don surgical gloves.  
  
Jesse took the bedroom, whilst Amanda agreed to make a start in the sitting room with detective Archer.  
  
The bed lay, still unmade, in the left corner of the room. Clothes were strewn around the floor, having fallen where Gavin Olsen had dropped them, no doubt. The wardrobe faired little better. Jesse opened one of the cupboard doors only to be bombarded by a mountain of clutter. Photographs, letters, credit card receipts, books and various knick-knacks collected from countries he had visited. "I'd say his housekeeper had taken the past few years off!" joked Jesse. Amanda tossed him a rueful glance as her companion re-entered the sitting room. She rummaged through a pile of papers as Jesse continued on to the kitchen, his stomach rumbling loudly en route. "Hey don't touch anything, we don't know if he was poisoned," called the pathologist knowing full well Jesse would certainly check out the refrigerator.  
  
Tanis headed toward the bathroom. The medicine cabinet offered little other than shaving foam, toothbrush and toothpaste, some aspirin and a half used bottle of cold remedy. Rummaging around in the wastebasket, the keen eyes of the detective spotted a disposable razor, complete with a smear of dried blood. Carefully, she dropped the razor into a clear plastic evidence bag and rejoined the others. "Amanda, do you think there is enough blood there to do an analysis on?" she asked hopefully. "I don't know. The quantity is so small, I could try." After a brief pause, Amanda spoke again. "Err, it looks like our Mr Owen had a bit of a cash flow problem. According to these bank statements, he is haemorrhaging red ink to the tune of about $50,000!" Tanis and Jesse each let out a low whistle. "Here it shows a credit of $10,000, but still it seems to have made no impact upon the balance. There's another.four deposits in this account for figures over $10,000!" "Where? Let me see," asked Tanis moving nearer Amanda.  
  
Suddenly, from the kitchen the stunned voice of Jesse could be heard. "Oh my God!" The serious tone of the young doctor made both women look up from what they were doing. "Y-you guys better come and have a look at this." Jesse stood in front of an open chest freezer. Wafts of chilled air rose from the icy container into the warm Californian air like frozen fingers reaching out and snatching at the body of warmth that was the kitchen. Jesse's face looked pale and shocked. As the two women moved closer they could see for themselves what had Jesse transfixed. It was a man's body. His blue skin taught and hard; eyes wide and open still exhibiting the pain and fear that had consumed him upon his death. The three investigators looked on confused and horrified by their grisly discovery.  
  
*****  
  
Mark mopped Gavin Olsen's brow with a napkin dipped in some ice water. His patient's condition worsening as time progressed. "Excuse me, miss," he called to the cabin attendant. "You can call me Sally." "Thank you Sally," smiled the doctor. "Could you get me some more ice, please?" "Certainly, do you need anything else?" she asked helpfully. "Not at the moment, thank you. I've just got to try and bring your friend's temperature down." Mark looked back at his patient, his concern growing. "Dad," called Steve from the stairwell. "We've got a couple more sick people here." "Mark looked up horrified. Whatever this was it was spreading, and fast. "I'll get that ice," Sally said and she hurried off to the galley. Steve carefully laid the latest patients on the sofas lining the lounge. Mark quickly checked them over, his face told Steve he was right, however much he wished he wasn't. "Do you know what it is?" asked Steve not really sure if he wanted to know the answer. "I'm not sure, but whatever it is it's starting to spread. We need to set up a quarantine. We are looking at something that has a short incubation period. I hope Jesse and Amanda have come up with something.  
  
*****  
  
Amanda stood clothed in her dark blue scrubs peering down into the optical viewer of the pathology microscope, examining samples of blood and tissue. Through the strong magnifying lens she was able to detect abnormalities in the blood and liver of the corpse they had found in Olsen's freezer.  
  
Slapping the pathology report folder shut, Amanda left her lab and headed directly for the ER, a worried expression on her face.  
  
Jesse was not in sight when she arrived at the casualty-ridden emergency rooms. Dr Bentley stopped at the nurse's station and to the nurse behind the desk simply asked "Dr Travis?" The nurse looked down briefly before pointing to examination room 4, just as Jesse came out looking dejected, pulling the latex rubber gloves from his hands with a resounding 'thwack'. "Mr Jose Sanchez didn't make it," he commented when he noticed Amanda looking at him. "I'm sorry Jess," Amanda comforted. "But I've got some more bad news." She pulled the young ER doctor to one side and began to explain her findings. "I ran some tests on the body we found in Olsen's freezer and it appears that he died from massive internal haemorrhaging. He practically bled to death internally." "What caused it?" asked Jesse suddenly caught up in Amanda's findings. "It appears he was suffering from a highly communicable disease called Haemocylanosis." "Let me guess," grimaced Jesse. "You found, the same thing on the razor we found?" "Yes," replied Amanda fearfully. "Which means. Mark, Steve and everyone on board that plane could be infected!" 


	2. Chapter 2

Mark's cell phone let out the unmistakeable ring from the doctor's jacket pocket. "Oh, hi Jess," he began in an optimistic tone. His eyes closed as he let out the sigh that had been held within in the hope that what his patients were suffering from was just an abnormal case of food poisoning or something equally as minor. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Jesse explained over the phone Amanda's findings and straight away the senior physician knew he had the beginnings of an epidemic on his hands. "Thanks Jess," murmured Mark as he snapped his phone shut, ending the call.  
  
Steve re-entered the lounge carrying a pile of blankets and instantly noticed his fathers' expression. "Dad?" he queried. "Are you OK?" Mark looked up at his son, the normally vibrant blue eyes now somehow clouded by the situation unfolding around him. "That was Jess. Amanda had discovered that Olsen had a dead man in his apartment," "What?!" exclaimed Steve incredulously. "Who had contracted a serious and highly communicable disease - Haemocylanosis. And, judging by a blood sample found in his bathroom, Olsen appears to have contracted it." Mark continued. "OK, so how do we cure it?" asked Sally innocently, as she overheard the father and son conversation. "A powerful cocktail of antibiotics and specialist medical attention that just isn't available at 32,000ft!" Mark pointed out of the window at the cloud base outside. "You need to inform the captain. Have him contact London and apprise them of our situation." Steve instructed Sally. "If this is as contagious as my father believes, then we cannot land this plane at an airport where there are thousands of people." "Of course," the young woman agreed as she hurried off toward the flight deck. Steve returned his attention back to his father. "How contagious is this 'Haemo-whatsit' really?" "Highly. Everyone on this plane could be infected." Mark's face held the look of concern as he surveyed the increasing number of ill patients around him.  
  
Moments later, Sally returned to the quarantine area severely distressed. "Dr Sloan, Dr Sloan - come quick!" "Sally, slow down," Mark soothed. "Now, what's the matter?" "The captain.he's unconscious!" Mark and Steve both looked at each other and with a quickened pace, followed the attendant along the corridor that lead to the flight deck. The co-pilot lay halfway between the cockpit area and the rest of the plane. His body holding the door ajar. The captain was still strapped into his seat, his head flopped limply to his right. "We've got to get these men to the quarantine area," Mark ordered. Between the three of them, both the pilot and co-pilot were removed from their prone positions and settled into the improvised hospital ward. "He's burning up," grimaced Mark as he felt the captain's forehead. A cooling ice drenched napkin was laid upon the fevered brow as Dr Sloan tended his latest patients.  
  
Meanwhile, Steve had his own crisis to manage. With the pilot and co- pilot both unconscious, there was no one left to fly the plane! Fortunately, for everyone, the autopilot had already been engaged. Carefully, the detective eased himself into the bucket seat of the captain. He lifted the weighty headset and placed it upon his head. Searching the many dials, buttons and switches that presented themselves to him, Steve located the radio transmission switch. "Mayday, Mayday. This is Zenith Airlines flight 8-0-2 from Los Angeles to London requesting immediate assistance. Mayday, Mayday." Steve flicked the switch to receive. The earphones crackled and fizzed before a man's voice responded. "This is London Tower, go ahead please, Zenith 8-0-2." "London Tower," began the off duty Lieutenant trying not to let his nerves show in his voice. "This is Lieutenant Steve Sloan of the LAPD, badge number 384. We have an emergency situation on board." "This is London Tower, please change to frequency 287Mhz," instructed the air traffic controller through the building static. Steve scanned the instrumentation in front of him and saw a dial listed as radio frequency. Turning carefully in an anticlockwise motion he rotated the knob until the digital readout read 287 Mhz. "Hello London Tower, this is Lieutenant Sloan," The man's voice from earlier sounded in his ear, this time with improved clarity. "This is London Tower, please clarify your situation." "This is Zenith Airlines flight 8-0-2 from LA to London. The situation we have on board has left us without a pilot. It seems that there is a virus or infection on board that has affected one member of the cabin crew, the captain, co-pilot and a couple of passengers. My father is a doctor at Community General Hospital and is currently doing all he can. The aeroplane is flying on autopilot, but we will need assistance for landing." "Lieutenant Sloan, please await instructions." The line went silent for a few moments. "Lieutenant Sloan, Steve, we shall contact Zenith Airlines to find if you have another registered pilot aboard." "Contact Detective Tanis Archer, at the LAPD, she can help you with the court order for the information. She is aware of the situation." "Thank you and good luck!" The radio cracked once again bringing the conversation to an unresolved close.  
  
On the upper deck Mark had his own crisis to cope with. Gavin Olsen's heart rate shot up and his breathing shallowed. Mark felt for the pulse in his neck. Suddenly, it stopped. "NO.don't you give up on me," uttered Mark to his patient as he began CPR.  
  
Several minutes passed, but all Mark's efforts were futile, Gavin Olsen was officially pronounced dead. Mark hung his head, disappointed that he couldn't have done more to save his patient.  
  
Steve sat bemused in the cockpit, watching the aeroplane fly itself when a call came in. "Flight 8-0-2, Zenith Airlines flight from LA to London, come in please. Detective Sloan, this is London Tower, come in please." "Sloan here, go ahead." "We have a call coming through from a Dr Jesse Travis, we will patch him direct to you, stand by." "Received, London Tower." A few seconds passed, in which time Steve was able to call Sally to pass the message on to his father that Jess was about to be in contact. Mark joined his son, with Sally close at his heels, just as the call was put through. Steve handed his father a set of headphones, which allowed the pair of them to communicate freely with their friend. The stewardess watched on, admiring the father/son relationship. "Hi Steve," began the young ER resident enthusiastically. "Hi Jess," both Sloan's chorused. "Oh Mark, you're there, good!" Jesse continued, relieved that he hadn't got to explain all the finer medical points to the detective. "Mark, Amanda has discovered that a cocktail of Detromyacin, Therocyclamine and Glycocyl attacks the virus." "That's a powerful combination," replied the airborne doctor stroking his white moustache thoughtfully. "But how are we going to get hold of any of those drugs up here - at 32,000ft?" A slow smile crept across Mark's face as a solution began to form in his mind. "Hold on Jess," commented Steve, as he noticed his father's expression. "I think my father is already working on that one." "Jess, can you get enough of the antidote together and have it delivered directly to the US Air Force base over at Cedar Ridge?" asked Mark. "Sure, but." Mark didn't wait to listen to Jesse's objections as he headed out the cockpit door. A purposeful stride took him towards the first class passengers. "Hey Steve, Tanis wants a word," announced Jess. "Hi Steve. Why is it trouble seems to follow you wherever you go?" his partner taunted playfully. "Just lucky I guess," a slight grin evident amid his angular features. "Good news! It seems you have a pilot on board." "Great!" exalted Steve barely restraining his optimism. "A Frank Burnett, he flew B52's back in Vietnam, so he should be able to handle a passenger jet." "Sally, do you think you can locate a passenger by the name of 'Frank Burnett'? He's a trained pilot and we could really use him at the moment!" Steve's humour covering the inward concern he felt. Tanis continued her briefing. "I also did some digging into Olsen's background. It appears that he had been making regular visits to Venezuela, which coincide with regular deposits of large sums of money into his bank account. It seems that our Mr Olsen has been smuggling illegal immigrants into the country to pay off some of his debts. Only this time it all went wrong. We found a dead body at Olsen's apartment infected with the same virus you seem to have onboard up there. He must have contracted the disease before he left for that flight but before he had chance to dispose of the body. He put our John Doe in the freezer, which prevented further contamination here in LA." "Thanks Tanis, I owe you the biggest rib dinner you can eat," grinned Steve. "You just make sure you make it back safely so you can serve it, OK?" she replied teasingly. "You're on!" joked Steve. At that moment, he was rejoined by his father and Senator Watson. "Detective Archer," began the politician, "This is Senator Owen Watson. Please could you contact Major Barry O'Nett at Cedar Ridge Air Force Base and have him despatch a jet with the antidote for this infection. He will work out the logistics, but I'm sure he can organise a mid-air transfer of the drugs." "Especially, as we now know we have a pilot aboard," chipped in Steve. "That's terrific," agreed Mark. The temporary flight crew could hear Jesse in the background authorising and organising the drugs they required to revive the ailing crew and passengers. Mark escorted the senator back to first class. "Do you think we can survive this, doctor?" "If we can get the antidote and land this plane safely - yes I do, Senator," replied Mark trying to convince himself as much as the nervous politician at his side.  
  
On the journey back to first class, Dr Sloan was stopped by yet another passenger exhibiting the all too familiar symptoms of his other patients. Supporting the smartly dressed businessman by wrapping his arm around Mark's neck, the doctor assisted his latest admission to the temporary triage that was steadily growing in numbers.  
  
As Mark tended one of the female patients with a cooling cloth to her forehead a familiar voice sounded behind him, which caused the white haired physician to jump. "Dr Sloan," began Sally. "This is Mr Burnett." Burnett extended his right hand, which Mark took and shook enthusiastically. "I understand you need my help?" Mark's gaze traversed from the handshake to Frank Burnett's face and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Burnett was Blind!  
  
Mark escorted the former pilot to a nearby seat and sat beside him. As tactfully as he could, the doctor began to explain their situation. Burnett explained that he had lost his sight five years ago from a degenerative disease. However, he had experience in flying many types of aircraft, although passenger jets had never been one of them he could still guide someone through the procedures.  
  
With little option but to accept Burnett's offer, both father and son Sloan prepared to continue the flight with a blind man at the helm. Steve agreed to be the 'captain's' eyes and read the dials, watch radar and be ready to help out with the next manoeuvre that could save everyone's lives or send them to an early grave at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Within fifteen minutes, a USAF jet contacted the stricken passenger flight. "Zenith Airlines flight 8-0-2 this is Flight Captain James Harding." The metallic transmission brought a wave of relief and the first real smile to Steve's face since their ordeal had begun.  
  
"This is Zenith 8-0-2. Go ahead Captain," said Frank with an authoritative air that further quelled Steve's nerves.  
  
Between the two pilots, plans were made to convey the shipment of antibiotics in mid-air. The welcomed look of relief was short lived and was soon replaced by one of astonishment as the enormity of what they were about to attempt sunk into the 'acting' co-pilot.  
  
"You are joking aren't you?" Steve asked Frank once the transmission had ceased.  
  
"No," he replied bluntly. "The flight crew are all ill. Their only source of medical help is your father, and he can't do much without those drugs. So we have to do this - OK?"  
  
Reluctantly, Steve agreed. Captain Burnett instructed the cabin staff to initiate the emergency protocols and lit the 'Fasten your seatbelts' sign. In a calm voice, the former passenger made his announcement over the tannoy system.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Frank Burnett," The passengers chatter died down as they listened to the calming voice convey the details of the crisis the flight had been experiencing over the past few hours. On the whole, there was very little panic from the announcement, a couple of women screamed and one man ordered a very large whiskey.  
  
With all the safety preparations made, it was now time for Frank and Steve to play their part in the rescue of flight 802.  
  
"Disengage auto-pilot." Steve complied. "Reduce altitude to 10,000ft" instructed Frank.  
  
As the plane descended Steve called out the reading from the altimeter "20,000.18,000.16,000." The angle of decent eased as they reached their optimum height. "12,000.11,500.11,000.10,500.10,000ft" The plane levelled off smoothly with the USAF jet adjacent to their port wing. Everything was in place, a final warning was issued to the passengers before the port side hatch was unfastened and swung back into the cabin. Papers, magazines, napkins and other lightweight objects whistled about the fuselage as the change in air pressure and influx of air whipped up the flight's contents like a blender.  
  
The cockpit instrumentation flashed and bleeped and the previously easy handling of the flight 'stick' had changed to a wrestling match. Frank held fast and with Steve's help the pair of them managed to steady the plane through the turbulent decompression.  
  
A safety line was attached around Sally's waist and secured to a solid piece of the aircraft as she waited for the air transfer to commence.  
  
A line, with a securely fastened case, slowly drifted back from the US air force jet that was towing it like a child trying to encourage his first kite to fly.  
  
Suddenly, the airliner encountered a patch of turbulence. Steve and Frank, caught slightly off guard, struggled with the controls to bring the plane back under control. The plane jerked violently causing Sally to lose her footing. The young air steward slipped perilously towards oblivion, saved only by the rope around her waist and the doctor she had grown to respect and admire. Mark, together with one of the male passengers helped Sally safely back within the plane to wait the oncoming supply of much needed medicine. She began breathing heavily and as she tried to regain her breath she became aware of a searing pain in her chest, but was reluctant to show those around her knowing how much everyone depended upon her success.  
  
The medicine case flagged closer and closer, bumping the exterior of the fuselage. Mark flinched involuntarily with each strike praying that its contents were safe. At last the case was within Sally's grasp. Swiftly she snatched it and hauled it inside the airliner before releasing the winch cable that had despatched their lifeline.  
  
The hatch door is closed and for the first time Sally showed just how much pain she was in as she handed Mark the case.  
  
"Sally?" Mark asked concerned. "Let me have a look at you."  
  
"Give the others the medicine, I'll be fine," she replied.  
  
"You're not fine, c'mon," the doctor helped the plucky stewardess to a seat. "You've cracked a couple of ribs. Stay there and I'll strap them for you after I've given these injections."  
  
Sally nodded without objection. It hurt too much to argue anyway.  
  
With the hatch now secure, Frank instructed Steve to climb back up to 26,000ft and continue on to their destination - London.  
  
*****  
  
Mark prepared the vaccine and began administering to his patients. With only twelve minutes until they arrive at London it was obvious that neither the captain nor the co-pilot were going to be in any sort of condition to land the plane. Mark broke the news to Steve.  
  
*****  
  
"London Tower, this is Flight 802, come in please." Again Frank repeated his request.  
  
"Go ahead Flight 8-0-2," crackled the communications system.  
  
"The vaccine has been administered and Dr Sloan assures me that everyone will survive, but.the flight crew will not be able to land the plane - we will have to."  
  
"Received. We will have emergency vehicles standing by. Make your approach on runway 9."  
  
"Confirmed - runway 9. Thank you Tower," Frank's conversation with the Tower didn't exactly instil confidence in Steve, but the detective knew that there was no other choice. "Are you ready?" asked Frank.  
  
Steve took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, ready as I'll ever be!"  
  
"Can you see the landing strips ahead?"  
  
"Yes - but there are several. Which is number 9?"  
  
"It works like a clock face, with north being twelve."  
  
Steve checked the compass before adjusting the planes position so the runway was directly in his path. "OK, runway 9 is ahead."  
  
"Reduce altitude to 10,00ft and speed to 600 knots." Steve complied reading the dials aloud until they reached the required settings. Frank fumbled with the flaps setting them in preparation for landing. "OK, somewhere around here should be a button that sets the undercarriage - press it." Steve scanned the instrument panel, located the switch and pressed it as instructed. The blind instructor acknowledged the subtle whirr as the hydraulics were deployed. "Good!" Then into his radio, "London Tower, we are about to commence landing procedures."  
  
"Received Zenith 8-0-2 and good luck!"  
  
Frank looked in Steve's direction "Approach the runway straight on. Reduce height to 3,000ft and from 2 miles reduce air speed to 200 knots."  
  
Silent tension emanated from the flight deck as Steve began the arduous decent. Even the passengers echoed a hushed quiet with just one or two people offering up a whispered prayer.  
  
Frank helped with steadying the controls so as the approach was not too steep. Steve read the dials aloud whilst Frank offered gentle praise and instruction. The landing lights on the runway helped the detective line the plane to land.  
  
The next few moments, as far as Steve was concerned, were a blur. The screech of rubber making contact with the British tarmac brought time back to the present, with a bump, allowing the two impromptu pilots to breath a heavy sigh of relief as the brakes were applied bringing Flight 802 to an end.  
  
Steve just sat for a moment, totally oblivious to the scurrying emergency crews on the ground. Medical officers in sealed canary yellow 'hazmat' suits entered the plane first, whilst the senior health official received a full debriefing from Mark. The most serious cases, including the captain and co-pilot were escorted to hospital in the awaiting ambulances whilst the remainder of the passengers and crew were inoculated and allowed to continue on their way unimpeded.  
  
Frank congratulated his co-pilot on making such a smooth landing and quipped that Steve had passed the airborne initiation. "Next time I need a co-pilot, I'll give you a call!"  
  
Steve slowly looked up and chuckled as he realised the blind man at his side was just kidding. "Thanks Frank - but next time I think I'll sail!!"  
  
"OK, but keep an eye out for icebergs!"  
  
Frank Burnett patted Steve on the left shoulder and left the cockpit leaving the detective to sit in awe of the events of the previous few hours alone. Suddenly, he snapped out of his trance as he remembered his father. "Dad.dad?" he called as he anxiously searched along the length of the plane. A stranger in a yellow anti-contamination suit barred his way as Steve spotted his father. Again Steve called out "Dad."  
  
"I'm sorry sir," replied the official blocking his way. "You have to be tested before I can let you pass."  
  
"It's OK Steve, they are just doing their job," came his father's reassuring words. Steve calmed down and accepted his place in the queue of people waiting to receive their antibiotic shots. Steadily, the number of passengers and crew dwindled until there were only Frank, Sally, Steve and Mark left unvaccinated. Mark drew a syringe and swiftly pierced the arm of the blind pilot. "I can't thank you enough for what you did today," praised the white haired physician. "Without your help, I'm certain that there would have been a lot more fatalities."  
  
"Hey," smiled Frank modestly. "It was your son who did all the hard work. I was just the instruction manual!"  
  
"Yeah," chimed in Steve. "Well I just wish the instruction manual on my VCR was as easy as that! You don't know how to set the VCR too do you?" he continued with a jovial tone.  
  
"Uh-uh, now there you've go me!" laughed Frank. The group of them joined in the laughter.  
  
"Steve," called Sally before they disembarked the plane. "Call me," her lustrous smile and hazel eyes promised to rid Steve of his unenvious self- proclaimed title 'the unluckiest bachelor in LA', but no one said anything about London!!  
  
*****  
  
A black London taxi took both Mark and Steve to their hotel. "What do you say we take the ferry back?" asked Steve whilst the pair of them waited to see the checking in clerk.  
  
"Good idea," remarked his father with a smirk.  
  
As they moved closer to the reception desk, a man in obvious distress rushed up and asked, "Is there a doctor in the hotel?"  
  
Mark and Steve looked at each other, exchanged glances and before the detective could say a word, Mark offered his services leaving his son surrounded by a multitude of cases.  
  
"Oh no - here we go again!" exclaimed Steve with a definite air of resignation.  
  
The End.  
  
22.02.03 


End file.
